'Samus is here!' he cried in delight, but his blade, flaring with power, was wedged fast.

'Samus is done.’ Loken replied, and drove the tip of his sword into Jubal's exposed chest. The sword punched clean through, and the tip emerged through Jubal's back.

Jubal wavered, letting go of his own weapon, which remained transfixed through Loken's shoulder guard. With half-open, shuddering hands, he reached at

Loken's face, not violendy, but gently as if imploring some mercy or even aid. Water splashed off them and streamed down their white plating.

'Samus...' he gasped. Loken wrenched his sword out.

Jubal staggered and swayed, the blood leaking out of the gash in his chest plate, diluting as soon as it appeared and mixing with the drizzle, covering his belly plate and thigh armour with a pink stain.

He toppled backwards, crashing over and over down the steps in a windmill of heavy, loose limbs. Five metres from the base of the pier, his headlong career bounced him half-off the steps, and he came to a halt, legs dangling, partly hanging over the chasm, gradually sliding backwards under his own weight. Loken heard the slow squeal of armour scraping against slick stone.

He leapt down the flight to reach Jubal's side. He got there just moments before Jubal slid away into oblivion. Loken grabbed Jubal by the edge of his left shoulder plate and slowly began to heave him back onto the pier. It was almost impossible. Jubal seemed to weigh a billion tonnes.

The three surviving members of Brakespur squad stood at the foot of the steps, watching him struggle.

'Help me!' Loken yelled.

To save him?' one asked.

'Why?' asked another. 'Why would you want to?'

'Help me!' Loken snarled again. They didn't move. In desperation, Loken raised his sword and stabbed it down, spearing Jubal's right shoulder to the steps. So pinned, his slide was arrested. Loken hauled his body back onto the pier.

Panting, Loken dragged off his battered helm and spat out a mouthful of blood.

'Get Vipus.’ he ordered. 'Get him now.’

S S S

BY THE TIME they were conducted up to the plateau, there wasn't much to see and the light was failing. Euphrati took a few random picts of the parked storm-birds and the cone of smoke lifting off the broken crag, but she didn't expect much from any of them. It all seemed drab and lifeless up there. Even the vista of the mountains around them was insipid.

'Can we see the combat area?' she asked Sindermann.

'We've been told to wait.'

'Is there a problem?'

He shook his head. It was an 'I don't know' kind of shake. Like all of them, he was strapped into his rebreather, but he looked frail and tired.

It was eerily quiet. Groups of Luna Wolves were trudging back to the stormbirds from the fastness, and army troops had secured the plateau itself. The remembrancers had been told that a solid victory had been achieved, but there was no sign of jubilation.

'Oh, it's a mechanical thing,' Sindermann said when Euphrati questioned him. This is just a routine exercise for the Legion. A low-key action, as I said before we set out. I'm sorry if you're disappointed.'

'I'm not.’ she said, but in truth there was a sense of anticlimax about it all. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but the rush of the drop, and the strange circumstance at Kasheri had begun to thrill her. Now everything was done, and she'd seen nothing.

'Carnis wants to interview some of the returning warriors,' Siman Sark said, 'and he's asked me to pict them while he does. Would that be permissible?'

'I should think so.’ Sindermann sighed. He called out for an army officer to guide Carnis and Sark to the Astartes.

'I think.’ said Tolemew Van Krasten aloud, 'that a tone poem would be most appropriate. Full symphonic composition would overwhelm the atmosphere, I feel.’

Euphrati nodded, not really understanding.

A minor key, I think. E, or A perhaps. I'm taken with the title "The Spirits of the Whisperheads", or perhaps, "The Voice of Samus". What do you think?'

She stared at him.

'I'm joking.’ he said with a sad smile. 'I have no idea what I am supposed to respond to here, or how. It all seems so dour.’

Euphrati Keeler had supposed Van Krasten to be a pompous type, but now she warmed to him. As he turned away and gazed mournfully up at the smoking peak, she was seized by a thought and raised her picter.

'Did you just take my likeness?' he asked.

She nodded. 'Do you mind? You looking at the peak like that seemed to sum up how we all feel.’

'But I'm a remembrancer.’ he said. 'Should I be in your record?'

We're all in this. Witnesses or not, we're all here.’ she replied. 'I take what I see. Who knows? Maybe you can return the favour? A little refrain of flutes in your next overture that represents Euphrati Keeler?'

They both laughed.

A Luna Wolf was approaching the huddle of them.

'Nero Vipus.’ he said, making the sign of the aquila. 'Captain Loken presents his respects and wishes the attention of Master Sindermann at once.’

'I'm Sindermann.’ the elderly man replied. 'Is there some problem, sir?'

'I've been asked to conduct you to the captain.’ Vipus replied. This way, please.’

The pair of them moved away, Sindermann scurrying to keep up with Vipus's great strides.

What is going on?' Van Krasten asked, his voice hushed.

'I don't know. Let's find out.’ Keeler replied.

'Follow them? Oh, I don't think so.’

'I'm game.’ said Borodin Flora. 'We haven't actually been told to stay here.’

They looked round. Twell had sat himself down beside the prow landing strut of a stormbird and was beginning to sketch with charcoal sticks on a small pad. Carnis and Sark were busy elsewhere.

'Come on.’ said Euphrati Keeler.

VIPUS LED SINDERMANN up into the ruined fastness. The wind moaned and whistled through the grim tunnels and chambers. Army troopers were clearing the dead from the entry halls and casting them into the gorge, but still Vipus had to steer the iterator past many crumpled, exploded corpses. He kept saying such things as, 'I'm sorry you had to see that, sir.’ and, 'Look away to spare your sensibilities.’

Sindermann could not look away. He had iterated loyally for many years, but this was the first time he had walked across a fresh battlefield. The sights appalled him and burned themselves into his memory. The stench of blood and ordure assailed him. He saw human forms burst and brutalised, and burned beyond any measure he had imagined possible. He saw walls sticky with blood and brain-matter, fragments of exploded bone weeping marrow, body parts littering the blood-soaked floors.

Terra.’ he breathed, over and again. This was what the Astartes did. This was the reality of the Emperor's crusade. Mortal hurt on a scale that passed belief.

Terra.’ he whispered to himself. By the time he was brought to Loken, who awaited him in one of the fortress's upper chambers, the word had become 'terror' without him realising it.

Loken was standing in a wide, dark chamber beside some sort of pool. Water gurgled down one of the black-wet walls and the air smelled of damp and oxides.

д dozen solemn Luna Wolves attended Loken, including one giant fellow in glowering Terminator armour, but Loken himself was bareheaded. His face was smudged with bruises. He'd removed his left shoulder guard, which lay beside him on the ground, stuck through with a short sword.

'You have done such a thing,' Sindermann said, his voice small. 'I don't think I'd quite understood what you Astartes were capable of, but now I-'

'Quiet.’ Loken said bluntly. He looked at the Luna Wolves around him and dismissed them with a nod. They filed out past Sindermann, ignoring him.

'Stay close, Nero.’ Loken called. Stepping out through the chamber door, Vipus nodded.